Under the Hood

My silver Nissan had two doors and pop-up headlights. As I sped down the summer back roads I thought about the story I'd heard at camp in which a woman fucked herself on the stick shift of her boyfriend's car. I eyed the gear shift curiously. I shifted into fifth and hugged the curves while blowing my speakers and screaming along.

Of the summer before my junior year I remember driving most. I remember determinedly smoking stolen cigarettes, cruising around aimlessly, and panting for sex. By the time I was 16 I'd been busy pushing hairbrush handles, empty beer bottles, and my determined fingers inside of myself for at least a year. The first time my burgeoning boyfriend got me alone he laid on top of me as we kissed. I played coy to hide my fear and pushed my hands into his pockets to slow him down. The square condom wrapper in his pocket caught me off guard, "I'm not going to have sex here! My cousin's just down the hall!"

Sheepishly he said he'd only brought it "in case". I smirked and enjoyed his hard-on against my leg and kissed him a minute longer. I walked down the hall toward the group of teenagers and television feeling red and disheveled. I wasn't used to this type of explicit behavior with boys.

Soon after the beginning of the school year, we spent an hour or two, as the blue sky darkened, leaning against each other and smoking rebel cigarettes on his front stoop. My cotton underpants were so sticky as I shyly looked at him that I was certain he could see my arousal.

My school-night-curfew approaching I turned to him and saw the lights of the baseball field nearby reflecting in his dark eyes. His hands went to my waist when he leaned in and quickly roamed to my hips, then sides, then low back. My "nice girl" persona still intact and nervous, I kept my hands above his waist; on the back of his neck and in his hair. He whispered to me about "doing it" and "did I want to?" When I asked "where" he nodded toward his back yard, "Out here. No one will come out and it's dark enough." In the first of many "checkmates" from my cunt I agreed.

My reluctance to lie down in the dirt for My First Time led us to his older brother's car, which was locked. I heard the hood give beneath me as I eased my back onto it while being groped and kissing. His hands left my body to reach into his pocket. I felt my First embarrassing intercourse moment as I waited for him to get the condom on. The more embarrassing reality of sex sped into images stolen from Skinemax and lewd chat rooms.

Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?

If my bookkeeping is detailed enough I’ll be able to go back to see if the waning moon is the trickster egging me on.
There are boring parts of the story, but I’m not going to start with socks getting bunched in the heels of my shoes, nor how I spent 5 minutes in the bathroom talking to the turtle when I realized I didn’t have my phone. That’s for later. That’s the color.
I’ll start at the end actually. The end is the part where I dreamt things and I don’t want the ethereal fog of that memory to burn off while I type the stuff that’s more solid. It’s the bits right before waking that I remember of course, the tip of the iceberg – if you will.

I talked dirty to Tony, but didn’t see him. I was speaking as if one of us was a God and the other could hear by some force of omnipotence. I talked using ‘dirty’ nouns like cunt, cock, and feather and Tony walked from his bedroom onto my dream stage in a vintage button down, spring fabric fedora, and bouncing straight hard on. I placed us next to an elevator and added a camera person as well as onlookers, 3 of them, 6 floors up. We enter the elevator and I drop to my knees before him.
The camera person stands back in the corner and somehow we are well lit enough to be filmed. I get ready to fulfill my hunger on his dick. We love being watched and I love giving blow-jobs. I love sucking and looking up. I love sucking and hearing moaning. I love sucking and running my hands up a torso, I love seeing a head loll back and a throat grow taut. The camera is on us; I am dripping, the bell dings, 6th floor.
Two men and a woman, all in business suits, are waiting at the door open. Two of them gasp audibly; one of them is unmistakably aroused.
Think about it, really. Which of the two? Whose sex drive was always idling? Who is blamed for the fall of kingdoms?